“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”
-Sun Tzu, The Art of War
The camp was set up, the watches allocated, and everyone who could was getting ready for a bit of drinking in the village.
The surroundings were peaceful, a light drizzling rain began to fall, and far in the distance lightning could be seen over the mountains harshly illuminating the craggy peaks. The sentries grumbled and settled deeper into their cloaks, hoods drawn over helmets deep into the face, warming their hands on burning braziers.
After having kept quiet for a few days and her troubles to a minimum, Mireille was free to accompany her friends into the village. They went to the big inn at the marketplace looking for somewhere to sit. Annjen, Clarissa, and Margaret accompanied her. The inn was packed but a bit of space at a table to the side sufficed for the four. And soon they were drinking and making merry trying to make up for the discomforts of the road. Mireille tried to sing leaving everyone gasping from laughter. Margaret grumbled jokingly "Please don't try that again. That is seriously worse than camp duty!"
Clarissa smiled, "at least it got you to smile a bit, grump!"
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Meanwhile at the camp.
A mist had settled in the branches of the nighttime woods. Rain was falling softly, illuminated by the rare flashing lightning followed by thunder, the trees swaying in a brisk wind.
A sentry, soaked in spite of his waxed cloak made a gesture alerting his watch-partner, “wait I think there is something in the forest.”
“Yes. Yes, there are a few deer, perhaps even an owl or two.” He counted on his fingers while casting a ridiculing glance at his companion.
“I will go have a look.”
He stepped down the slope of the berm and cursed under his breath for getting water into his boots and the mud clogging his soles, stepping towards the trees while straining to see something in the misty gloom. Holding his spear at the ready.
It should have made a sound, been a great commotion there should have been some warning, anything, but the ritualistic spellwork faded like a whisper taking away a veil lying over the woods.
And suddenly...
Out of the fog, a gigantic shadow loomed, towering over the trees and dwarfing the soldier to insignificance. Sweeping a tall fir aside with the left arm, a leg rose, trailing mist, crashing into, shaking the ground. The monstrous figure was clad in dirty white furs and iron and wore a horned bone helmet. A giant, seemingly born from the benighted forest burst through trees and fog, dripping rain with momentum like an avalanche. His boot was near as big as a man. With his right hand, he swung a tree trunk banded with studded iron underhand, and hit the sentry, breaking bone. The reinforced wood was the last thing he ever saw.
The other guard waiting at the wall, was speechless, seeing his companion sail through the air and impact a tent dozens of meters farther inside. When he regained his composure an arrow soared through the night hitting him in the left eye. Reflexively grabbing it while letting go of his spear, he voiced a strangled scream.
The pale elven archer clothed like the giant in white furs nocked another arrow, only a slight tightening around mouth and eyes betraying his disappointment.
Through the trees, out of mist, night, and rain skeletons ran. Most of them without weapons simply brandishing skeletal claws scuttling like insects, lit by the flashing lightning.
“Alarm, we are under attack, to arms!”
The screams of the dying and the shouts of alarm were nearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the storm intensifying until someone finally managed to reach the horn. A long, drawn-out horn blow alerted the village and those caught sleeping.
Pandemonium reigned.
In between the tents, soldiers half-clothed with weapons hastily drawn desperately fought for their lives.
The giant walked over the berm and swung his club with deadly abandon killing with every hit. Deep-set eyes burning with hatred. Frost-elven archers standing on tree branches as if on even ground loosed deadly accurate arrows at the most effective defenders, not caring if a skeleton was hit.
From the direction of the southern road, undead, containing a host of ghouls beside the more numerous skeletons, followed a hulking figure in rusted plate mail.
The steel showed mummified flesh where it had given way to time. It wielded a sword burning with black flames, lanternlike orbs of radiance burned fiercely in empty eye-sockets, the helmet bore a tarnished crown.
The leader of the small detachment, lieutenant Curvos, stumbled out of the command tent having grabbed his sword and shield. He had thankfully been awake because of working late. His trusted sergeant was at his side. Taking a deep breath the lieutenant activated the brand, his skin turned to stone while his sword gained a shimmering edge looking like quicksilver.
With competent strikes he shattered skeletal limbs and heads, clearing his vicinity of undead the sergeant guarding his back. The giant, upon seeing this, fell into a light trot shaking the earth with every step. The gigantic club fell from the sky and smashed the tent and several skeletons, the sergeant was hurled to the side by the shockwave. Two brothers in earthen spell-armor fought their way to Curvos side.
The giant swung his club downwards again, the commander shouted another word and a shield of stone shaped like a star formed, hanging in the air, the resultant crash drowned out everything sparks flaring, moisture spraying to the sides. The shield gained cracks but held for the moment.
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“Retreat to the village! Retreat!”
Flame lances shot into the fur armor of the giant leading to short-lived flames, extinguished by the rain. Several Signed had organized themselves near their small section, gathering mundane soldiers to them.
Nearly half the camp was already overrun.
The soldiers surviving until now fighting a losing battle, going down under the press of skeletons who fought without self-preservation.
The necromancer stood in the shade of the trees, the ghost of an old man hovering beside her, features distorting in silent agony. Her harsh, ageless face was framed by straight dark blue hair. If not for the pain hidden in her features she could have been beautiful. Dark energies coruscated along the staff in her hand made of welded thighbones topped with a contorted sigil.
“The subject is inside the village and must be captured intact. Everything else is secondary. I have received and understood the command, my queen.”
Inside the village men were bellowing orders and the bell in the watchtower was rung frantically. Some tried desperately to bring order, others were panicking trying to get to the village elder's house and generally making the situation more chaotic.
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Meanwhile at the Lucky Nugget.
The door was wrenched open and rain drifted inside with a gust of wind. Two townmilitia stood there and one shouted: “Undead and a giant! They attack the army camp! All able fighters should arm themselves.”
Alyssa, Torvak, Tira, Adrian, and Gromnar stood up and began to hurry towards the door as long as the rest of the tavern was still in shocked silence.
“What do you mean undead!?”
The rest of the discussion faded into the sound of the rushing wind as they got outside. Far in the distance down the hillside, they saw a burning tent and the form of the giant a dark shade against a dark sky. He was fighting some people who, through magic or stubbornness, for the moment held their own.
Flashes of fire shot from a retreating group of soldiers a fireball exploded with a dull thump. Then the group of undead coming from the road smashed into the side of those fleeing the camp, led by a huge undead warrior felling soldiers with sweeping strikes.
Alyssa felt the dark energies keeping his soul in the here and now its radiance nearly burning her. Instinctively she raised her left hand and black flames flickered around her fingertips.
‘Are you mad!’ She felt a cold touch on her arm and someone was shaking her. ‘You can't use the energies of the void like this, it will kill you!’ Asandria was the one talking, even touching her. She came back to her senses and lowered the hand again.
Adrian looked concerned. “Are you all right? Come, we have to get everyone together and collect our weapons.”
Tira took her arm and pulled her along before she was able to object.
The fight seemed to be going against the group facing the giant and after a shouted order, sadly inaudible over the storm, they separated trying to flee the giant, while one of them scored a hit on the giant's leg causing him to stumble.
The front gate was opened and militia alongside two dwarves came to the aid of the beleaguered group of soldiers facing the nightmarish undead warrior.
The main street was clogged with panicking refugees and townsfolk so Gromnar and Torvak took the lead and forced a way through. At the inn, they grabbed what gear they needed and reunited with the rest of the party. There was a small group of soldiers having seemingly been on a drinking tour and now showed varying degrees of intoxication. Some of them wore the emblem of the Signed. A big woman wearing the sash of a corporal addressed the men.
“Soldiers, the rest of our comrades are out there dying! I will not stand by, even if I am not an officer I know what we have to do here. Come with us and help save as many as we can!” Looking up and seeing Torvaks group she said, “I can only ask for your help, but when the rest of the soldiers fall, so do our chances of surviving this raid. Please come and lend us your strength!”
A redheaded waifish young woman stood beside the one talking and added impatiently. “Hang together or hang separately as my brother used to say! Come with us, you can't hope to accomplish anything alone!”
Alyssa nodded firmly and got a smile from the freckled hothead. Cautiously she returned the smile even though the intense regard made her a bit nervous.
Mireille thought curiously ‘purple eyes, nearly transparent white hair. What the heck, it's the dark witch from the wanted poster. Looks nice though, pretty smile too! Something for after the battle.’
Torvak said “I agree. Come, my friends, the dead should be made to stay that way.” Flashing his false tooth and with a bit of madness in his blue eyes, he motioned towards the gate.
They took a sideroad to get to the gates, the main street being still full of people. As they got there they saw militia with spears desperately trying to hold off some ghouls, hunched humanoids in scraps of clothing, overlong arms with black claws dripping venom, massive jaws with teeth made for ripping, and eyes glimmering with a greenish radiance.
The large, armored undead was fighting a well-equipped soldier of fortune as a cut with the bastard sword managed to wound him. And like a piece of paper being touched by flame, the flesh on his arm grew black and shriveled, drawing back from the muscle beneath, blood and black fluid dripping to the earth. The middle-aged fighter screamed in pain and let go of his main gauche, which he was wielding with the stricken arm. Letting go of the haft of his sword with one hand his adversary hit him with a mailed fist across the upper body, lifting him and sending him sprawling into the other fighters.
Mireille concentrated and spoke “Sialysalethussar.” The falling raindrops were suddenly illuminated by lightning dancing spiderlike over her right arm, an thick bolt of incandescent energy raced into the storm missing the undead ducking back by a finger. He did not escape unscathed though. Arcs of electricity webbed his entire figure causing him to shudder and stumble back, runes burning fiercely in the remains of his armor. The light of his eyes dimmed a bit.
Arm still smoking, water hissing where the rain touched her, Mireille forced a smile breathing heavily. “I will just catch my breath. Keep them away from me.” A red hot button from her coat-sleeve plinged on the flagstones.
Torvak shouldered some militia aside and bellowed “Form up on me, make a wedge!”
And with him at the center, they drove into the ghouls and skeletons opening a way for the fleeing soldiers to unite with them. At the sides paralyzed by the ghoul's venom, some of the defenders were dragged into the darkness, eyes pleading silently.
Christina strode forward. “IN THE NAME OF IELENIA!” she shouted. “Let evil be cleansed by her light. The immaculate maiden grant me strength!” Pale, cold light burst into being driving through rain and men like they were not there, throwing no shadows, burning when it came in contact with the dead letting silvery flames spring to life.
The darkness around the wight intensified for a moment, the lantern glow of his eyes surging, but he was nevertheless driven back. Another lightning bolt shot for him arcs of coruscating blue hitting some skeletons and blasting them to pieces, the earth glowing and steaming for a moment after its passing.
Ancient runes, older than humanity's presence on this world glowed with power having diverted the bolt at the last moment, sending it into some ghouls farther back, who fell and staggered back respectively. The head swung towards Mireille. Some of the old armor burst and showered the surroundings with heated metal shards. The hulking figure spread its arms and raised the sword into the sky an oval disc of blue force formed on the other hand sparking with eldritch glyphs in the heavy rain.
Alyssa winced in pain as the white light surged into being, Asandria gave a sharp gasp and fled into her shadow. The darkness inside of her ebbed back like the low tide, but the darkness was endless and the light was finite. She tried to form a firebolt, and her efforts yielded a flaming projectile that severely damaged a skeleton, blasting his left arm to pieces. The words she had sung were still unfamiliar and without Asandria they would not easily come.
A pale male figure, standing behind the slavering horde, sighed and fitted an arrow to the bow made of bone and sinew, inscribed with sigils. The arrow shot towards Christina hitting her in the side. The priestess hissed through clenched teeth. Some archers on the wall seeing the trajectory took aim and shot at him, causing him to retreat into the mostly deserted camp.
Mireille leaned against the wooden gate cheek pressed against the wet wood, it never went well when she used the bolt too often.
Naturally, they had tried to find her limits, which sadly were about three times in a few hours, it had gone up from two. Her other ‘tricks’ were similarly limited drawing from the same ‘reserves’. The lightning and the storm seemed to help recover her spent strength though.
Alyssa seeing Christina driven back from the force of the hit ran forward even though the light was hurting her and caused her eyes to water. Reaching her side she grabbed a militia woman “help me get the arrow out, otherwise, I can't heal her!” Nodding her understanding Alyssa looked into Christina's eyes for assent and getting a nod while the priestess gritted her teeth, they pulled the arrow. Blood arced after the arrow and Alyssa clamped her hands over the wound beginning the song of life while her left hand began to burn painfully. Blood gushing between her fingers slowed and stopped.
Christina looked at her, the right hand raised with the symbol of the White without Stain glaringly brilliant. The expression in her dark eyes unreadable the glow of her light making her seem blurry and ill-defined.
The rest of the soldiers coming from the camp formed up on the defenders and then retreated into the village. A lone figure stood beside the wounded giant and raised a staff made of twisted bones. Black lightning flowed and invigorated the faltering undead.
The booming laughter of the giant followed them. After clearing the vicinity of the gate with several fireballs they managed to get the gates shut and barred.
The ground outside was littered with broken bones and corpses of both men and ghouls. The armored undead had fallen back from the white glare of Ielenias blessing.
Torvak, bleeding from several wounds grinned broadly. “Good fight! But I fear that this night is far from over”
Mireille having gotten cut by an arrow meant for her heart, thus feeling a bit lucky in spite of the pain, sat exhausted on a pile of boxes at the side of the main road. Alyssa was singing a soft elvish song over her wound.
Christina looked at them from a position at the side, her intense scrutiny on the pale-haired healer. Gripping her holy symbol tightly.